Celestiality
by Cytation
Summary: Celestia's old, and like a lot of old people, has gone absolutely crazy, presiding over Equestria with fear and violence. However, the Mane 6, kept alive by the Elements, are fighting back. Celestia needs them gone, and so hired a pony who specializes in making problems... disappear. Rated M for swearing, violence and other healthy stuff. Reviews appreciated!
1. Prologue

**This is a story. A serious one. There may be comedy thrown in, but (spoiler alert) a vast number of ponies... kick the bucket, hop the twig, push up the daisies, feed the worms, assume room temperature and carry out many other euphemistic phrases blatantly stolen from Wikipedia. This is not a happy story. Try to enjoy anyway.**

Grand Empress Celestia was becoming old. Very old. The once glowing solar princess was now a dusty husk, a shell of her former self. And whilst plenty of ponies throughout history, like Starswirl, Clover the Clever and (according to a recent poll) Mr. Cake had become increasingly wise and powerful in age (Mr. Cake's Arcane Pastries had been feared in their day), in the celestial ruler it was almost entirely the opposite. She had gone, like old people often do, completely and utterly insane.

However, the Elements of Harmony had done wonders for Twilight Sparkle and her multicoloured entourage. Their sustaining magic kept them young and now the six of them, who had defended Celestia's kingdom and leadership for so long, _dared_ to oppose Celestia's tyrannical (if not slightly deranged) rule. This could not continue. And so whilst she was mumbling to herself about... things, perched on the throne like some seagull gone wrong, a certain pony walked into the Royal Throne Room. A very special pony.

His name was Haxail, he was evidently a pegasus, and that was all most people knew about him. Haxail was not the kind of pony you met for more than a few, rather painful seconds. He was the kind of pony not many people liked talking about, because death wasn't exactly celebrated in Equestria. Neither was Haxail. Yet he strode in, a darkish cloak swept across his back, complimenting his darkish grey mane and darkish grey eyes. Nopony had ever seen his Cutie Mark. Haxail knelt before the Grand Empress, who was now beginning to drool and said, "Orders, your Majesty."

Celestia mumbled something incomprehensible. As expected, Calcula stepped forward, grinning like a hydra on acid. It was not a nice look. Calcula used to be just a secretary (admittedly the only female one and Celestia's best) but the arrogant bitch now acted as a communicator, relaying the Empress's orders to the insolent worms that were her subjects. "The Grand Empress bids you 'good morning'," said Calcula. The stupid grin hadn't left her face. "And, the Grand Empress wishes to engage you in another... contract."

"What does... her _majesty_ wish?"

Celestia mumbled a bit more. Her dentures slid out her mouth, and plopped onto the floor in their own private puddle of nastiness. Even Calcula grimaced, and turned to the nearest Royal Guard. "Clean that up."

The Guard looked pleadingly at his friend, who, in true Royal Guard tradition, did absolutely nothing to help. Calcula turned back to Haxail and continued with her undoubtedly faked "orders".

"The Grand Empress has been troubled for years now by the Twilit Separatists, which as I'm sure _you_ know, is led by those insolent excuses for asinine equines, the Mane Six. Her Royalness needs them gone, as quickly as possible. Minimum mess. Are you up to it?"

Haxail snorted, and said, "I'm an assassin. I kill ponies. It's my job. So, yes, I'm up to it. Bitch," he muttered the last part under his breath.

"Thug," countered Calcula. There was no love lost between the two.

"Slut."

"Psycho."

"Tramp."

"Shut da fuck up!" Celestia gargled, speech slurred by her lack of teeth. Everypony whirled to stare at her.

"Yes your Royal Celestialness!" cringed Calcula. Haxail smirked. However, it took approximately 0.000023 seconds for Calcula to be back to her usual obnoxious self.

"Well, Haaaaxail," grinned Calcula, "You have your orders. Make things happen. Bye."

And with that, Haxail strode out, hooves clopping loudly against the floor.

**Notes: Many authors put witty, interesting and relevant things in the "notes" section. However, as I have about as much creativity as a flattened shrew, this is seriously a mind-numbingly uninteresting notes section. So, yeah.**


	2. Chapter 1 (Pinkie)

Haxail gently trotted into the outside air. The sun was setting, and Celestia, even in her senile state, knew how to put on a good sunset. The sky was orange, pink and everything in between. Haxail smiled in a dopey way, reminiscing on the days of his childhood. Then he slammed a hoof into his stomach and mentally told himself not to be a pussy, whilst regretting hitting himself so hard.

After the pink mists of pain had gone he swiftly moved along his way, keeping to the shadows, out of habit if nothing else. He approached the train station, and didn't bother buying a ticket, again, mostly out of habit: assassins don't just throw money away. If he'd wanted to waste a good 30 bits then he would've given to charity. Jeez.

Haxail stepped on to the train and settled down. There was only one other pony in the entire carriage. They both sat in a _really_ awkward silence. Haxail stared at her, taking in every little detal about the pony, just so he had something to do: she had a darkish red coat, and a flowing blonde mane (her tail likewise), which covered one of her eyes slightly. Her Cuite Mark resembled a bandage of some kind, but he didn't have a clue why: she was no doctor. Eventually, she trotted up to him slowly, and sat down next to him. "You're Haxail, right?" she said.

"Er... yes?" Haxail replied hesitantly. Assassins don't like ponies knowing them by sight. It makes stabbing them harder.

"It's hard to mistake you. The lack of Cutie Mark is a dead give-away."

This wasn't entirely true. Of course, Haxail, being an adult pony, had a Cutie Mark, but he always kept it covered, either by clothing or, this time, by paint that almost exactly matched his coat.

"The name's Auxilla," the other pony continued, "I've been sent by the Grand Empress to... keep an eye on you."

"Ah," said Haxail, "No doubt you were hastily introduced by the author for the sole purpose of doing something outrageously erotic at around Chapter Ten."

"What?" asked Auxilla.

"What?" asked Haxail. "Sorry, I just zoned out there..." He shook himself, and continued: "Why did Celestia bother sending somepony anyway? Does she not..." he paused for a theatrical flourish, "_trust_ me?"

"Well, not after last time."

There was a pause.

"Look, it's not my fault the cathedral was so flammable."

"Yes, but you didn't have to lock those orphans inside."

Finally, the train pulled in to Ponyville, and Haxail stepped out with Auxilla in pursuit. "So," he said in as conversational way as a cold-blooded killer could be, "Which lucky pony goes first?"

"One Pinkamena Diane Pie, according to your contract. Apparently, the Separatists don't hide themselves, so the Celestial Intelligence Agency has gathered a miasma of data. Pinkamena frequents Sugar Cube Corner Bakery, which she's been running since the Cake family's death.

Haxail mused over this, and then asked, "What'd they die of, out of interest?"

"Diabetes."

"Oh."

They progressed quickly through the now lightening streets, but without the caution they'd shown previously; hardly anypony was around at this hour. Sugar Cube Corner, however, was lit up in various eye-wateringly hideous shades of pink, and a likewise pink pony with a high-pitched voice was talking incessantly whilst selling over-priced baked goods.

"Well, good luck Haxail. Try to get her alone, and then... do the... thing."

"Heheh. The 'thing'".

"Shut up. I still don't see how you're going to do it, you haven't got a weapon on you."

"Hahahaha, FOOLISH MORTAL! I HAVE WAYS OF DEALING DEATH THAT YOU COULD NEVER COMPREHEND!"

"Just go stab Pinkie."

Haxail quietly trotted up and slipped into the bakery. There was a small queue, surprising given the time, but it moved quickly and soon Haxail was at the counter. He cleared his throat and said, "You're Pinkamena, aren't you? Er... can we go somewhere private? I need to ask you about something. Um..."

Haxail was fully aware that his acting was less than legendary. However, to his surprise, Pinkie's eyes went wide and she squealed, "Oooh, you're that pony Twilight said would come! Quick, I have a present for you! Follow me!"

With incredible athleticism she bounded up the stairs and disappeared, talking all the time: "Yesyesyes, TwilighttoldmethataVERYspecialponywouldcomeandvisitandIwaslike"ohyeahawesome!"andsoI'vebeensettingupthispartyforyouforlikeforeverswagyoloalsoIthinkracismisacceptableincertainplaces!"

"Wait, what was that last part?"

"Er..." Pinkie paused for a micro-second. "I can't remember! How silly of me!"

They arrived in what was obviously a kitchen, quite a large one too. An oven stood open, radiating heat, and miscellaneous ingredients coated all available surfaces. His attention was brought back to Pinkie as she laughed and crouched next to two of her infamous Party Cannons. She grinned happily and said, "I hope you're ready to party! SURPRISE!" She fired one of the Cannons. However, instead of colourful streamers and other such happy things, the only thing to come out of that cannon was a solid steel ball that flew straight at Haxail's head.

He anticipated the move and with a flap of his wings deftly rolled out the way. The cannon ball slammed into the wall behind him and left a hoofball sized hole where his head was. He gulped nervously. Pinkie fired the next cannon, missing again but taking out an entire counter, leaving sparking electric wires sticking out of the floor. Haxail seized a nearby filleting knife and lobbed it back, the steel flashing in the light. Pinkie, however, was just as nimble. She flipped out the way and launched herself at him, hind legs first, and smashed into the floor as Haxail took to the air to dodge.

"Hey, that's CHEATING!" Pinkie cried, still giggling manically. "And, you know I don't like cheating!" She seized a frying pan in her mouth and swung it like a club, just catching Haxail's back leg, connecting with such force it almost broke his bone. His leg held out however, and the adrenaline numbed the pain. Pinkie began chucking anything she could find at him, hoping to bring him back to the floor: knives, a blender, several eggs, even a whisk whirred past his left flank. By now his mane was matted in confectionery, his hind leg was bruised and he hadn't put a scratch on Pinkie. Time for something different. Haxail jumped into the air and opened his wings. On the underside were several feathers that were remarkably shinier than the others. And sharper. With one great flap of his wings Haxail launched these fake metal feathers straight towards Pinkie. The first three missed by inches, but one slashed across her muzzle, leaving a red streak when it skidded across the floor. Pinkie's deranged giggling ceased instantly. She raised a hoof, wiped the blood away and stared at it. Her hoof began to shake. Her mane flattened, and her grin returned, but more savage this time. Haxail's pupils widened. "You know," Pinkie muttered, still with a manic grin, but spitting the words now, as if in a violent rage, "I was just making some cupcakes before you joined me... And I'm sure with YOUR help, they'll taste even SWEETER than before..."

"Oh, sweet Celestia, the stories were true!"

She grabbed an entire knife block and threw it with the force that only comes with true madness. Now it was Haxail's turn to see his own blood, as one of the larger knives had hit the end of one wing dead on, pinning him to the wall by it, near the open oven. He desperately tried to remove the knife with his mouth, but was nowhere near reaching it. Pinkie waltzed over, and tugged the knife out, smiling at the spurt of blood that poured out of the fresh wound. Haxail's mind raced for a way out. Desperately, he said: "Pinkie, I need your help in baking something!"

Pinkie paused, the knife inches away from his throat. "Really?" she asked, visibly brightening, "What is it?"

Haxail grinned. "Cupcakes," he said, before (using his wings to help him) spinning on the spot and pushing Pinkie from behind. She went head-first into the open oven, and as fast as possible Haxail forced the door closed and cranked up the temperature as far as it would go. He leant against the oven door and tried to block out the sound of Pinkie's desperate banging on the oven window becoming weaker and weaker, until there was no sound at all, but his heavy breaths and his blood dripping onto the floor.


	3. Chapter 2 (Zachora)

Once his heart had finally stopped trying to force its way out of his chest, Haxail got to work. Ignoring the burning smell now beginning to perforate through the room, he started to stuff everything of use into a saddlebag he had found buried under the wreckage of the wall, his wing now agonizingly painful as the adrenaline rush deserted him. Kitchens are very useful deposits of sharp things, and he grabbed mouthfuls of knives, piling them up in the bag. Bread knife? Yes. Cleaver? Most definitely. Whisk? Probably. Haxail then spent 30 minutes trying to put his feather-blades back into his wing with his mouth. Not easy when, if you slip, the razor-sharp object in your mouth would cut your tongue out.

After the kitchen had been well and truly raided of basically everything with a sharp edge, Haxail left by the back entrance, and made his way to Auxilla, still leaking blood out of his wing. Auxilla, in the true fashion of all sidekicks everywhere, saw his wing and immediately said, "Sweet Celestia, are you all right?"

She pressed her hoof against the injury, and recoiled as a fresh wave of blood spurted out. "Ew," she said. Haxail rolled his eyes. "And what's that an the saddlebag?!"

"Icing."

"Red icing? And I'm pretty sure icing doesn't coagulate like that."

"It's super special Pinkie Brand red icing that she helped me make."

Auxilla pulled a face, as if she expected an assassin to come back dressed in full tuxedo and not have a single injury. "That wing wound looks pretty bad, though; it shouldn't be bleeding that much."

"Can you do anything about it?"

"Yes, I think I know a plant that can help with that."

She trotted off into the forest, leaving Haxail to consider his next move. Maybe he should make a progress report to Celestia? Probably wouldn't be that glamorous:

_Dear Princess Celestia,_

_Today I learnt that stuffing a certain pink pony into a 300__C oven and roasting her alive like a furry turkey really yields good results insofar as making sure she never opposes your rule again._

_Your faithful murderer,_

_Haxail._

_P.S: Tell Calcula she's still a bitch._

And as for his next target, he needed to choose quickly, and get the job done. He may have a day at most before ponies uncover Pinkie's... whereabouts. He glanced back at the bakery, and heard a pony say, "Miss Pinkie? It's Rob from the Fire Safety Regulators, I'm here to check the ovens..."

O.K, not much time at all.

Auxilla returned carrying a mouthful of assorted herbs and plants, which she dumped at her hooves. "Rub these on the wound," she commanded.

"Why?" asked Haxail, not really anxious to comply. Some of those plants had little barbs on and one appeared to be oozing a blue, luminous liquid.

"Just do it."

Haxail sighed, grabbed a load of fauna in his mouth and pressed it to the still-bleeding wound. It stung, but after he lifted the plants the wound had already formed a scab and was on its way to a full recovery.

"Oh, so you ARE a doctor," Haxail said, "That's what your Cutie Mark is, right?"

"Huh? No," Auxilla replied, confused.

"It's a bandage, isn't it?"

"No, it's a strip of tape."

Haxail's eyes blanked. "Wut."

"Yeah," Auxilla continued, "My Cutie Mark is tape."

"Tape? TAPE? Tape is your special talent?"

"Certainly not!" Auxilla said, looking offended.

"Then what is your talent?"

"_That_ is non of your business, my good sir."

Horrible images filled Haxail's mind as to what exactly Auxilla was capable of with a strip of tape. However, he disbanded the ghastly thoughts with difficulty and asked, "So... who's next?"

"I was thinking you could take Fluttershy next."

Haxail groaned. He was NOT looking forward to this.

"What's the problem?"

"C'mon, Fluttershy? She's the sweetest thing alive!"

"Haxail, you kill ponies for a living. And you're getting emotional? Plus, she _isn't_ as sweet as you might think. You're not the only assassin to go after the Mane 6."

"Really? I'm pretty sure I was Celestia's fall-back option. Last resort."

"Yes, but the Mane 6 have been around for a long, long time; independent killers went after them in hope of getting some kind of reward from Celestia. The last one to try Fluttershy... well, she basically fed him legs first into a pit full of starved badgers."

"Starved badgers?!"

"Honey badgers."

Haxail felt a very personal kind of fear.

"Well, let's get going," Auxilla said, "You might be able to kill her by nightfall if you start now."

They trotted down the streets of Ponyville, and approached the Everfree Forest. "I'll go and check out her house," Haxail whispered. It was quiet near the forest, and the risk of being heard was much greater. "There's no lights on, so she might be sleeping."

He slowly came up to her door, and knocked.

"Hello?"

There was no answer.

"Fluttershy? Heeellooooo?"

Nopony replied. Haxail looked inside the window of the house, but couldn't see anything at all.

He returned to where Auxilla was waiting, and said, "I've no idea where she is; she's certainly not at home."

"Actually, _I_ may have an idea as to her whereabouts..."

Auxilla pointed to the Everfree Forest. Haxail paled.

"You mean we have to go in there?!"

"No, of course not," smiled Auxilla.

"Thank Celestia!"

"_You_ have to go in there."

There was a very long silence.

"Auxilla?" asked Haxail.

"Yes?"

"You're next on the list."

Haxail walked into the Everfree Forest, shaking slightly, and not just from the cool of the shade the trees cast. It was deathly silent, save for the occasional rustle of an unidentified animal moving in the undergrowth. He patted the saddlebag for reassurance. The sun was beginning to set, and so he quickened his pace, keeping to the well-worn path. The night whispered. The air seemed to be full of... _things_.

Eventually, his nerves in tatters, Haxail reached a small cottage, hung with macabre masks from some foreign land. He strained, and heard voices inside. Looking through the window, he saw a yellow pegasus mare chatting idly to some zebra. No wonder he had to strain to hear; the buttery pegasus was speaking in a voice so high-pitched and quiet, bats probably thought her voice was high. By not making any sound AT ALL, Haxail just about picked out what was being said.

"So, anyway Zachora, I don't think the badgers will work the second time around. I promised the Canterlot Zoo I wouldn't allow them to get a taste for pony flesh."

"Do not worry, my dear Fluttershy! I have a potion to make sure assassins die."

"Oh, thanks so much! What should I do with it?"

"Feed this to your pets, twice every day, and they'll become fierce to keep killers at bay."

Waitwaitwaitwaitwait, thought Haxail. _Zachora_? Awful rhyming speech? Could this psychotic zebra be descended from Zecora?! Master shaman of the Striped Assassins and inventor of the Poison Joke Toxin Mark IX? AWESOME!

"What was that noise?" Fluttershy squeaked, as they both went silent. Haxail's little habit of yelling his thoughts out loud on occasion was not doing him any favours.

Haxail knew he would lose the element of surprise, and so with style and grace crashed through the window and landed in the middle of the floor, a hefty cleaver drawn.

"THE GLASS IS EVERYWHERE!" he shrieked as small fragments lacerated his legs.

Both Zachora and Fluttershy stared in disbelief. There was a silence so awkward it was firmly asked to leave by the Universe in general. Zachora recovered first and screamed: "Run, Fluttershy! Save yourself! I'll hold off this killer, you run and get help!"

Haxail lobbed the cleaver, but Fluttershy was already through the door. It thudded into the wood, vibrating gently.

Zachora grinned and said, "It's just you and me, you cowardly _prick_. I'm gonna slice open your throat and cut off your-"

"Dude, no!"

Zachora didn't bother to reply this time, and instead grabbed and random potion bottle and chucked it across the room. Haxail hurriedly backed up and it splash onto the floor in front of him. The luminous green liquid inside began to melt a hole in the floor. It steamed slightly.

Haxail flung the saddlebag to the side and pulled out a bread knife at random and flew across the room at Zachora. Slashing it through the air. Zachora suddenly dissolved into smoke, and Haxail went straight through him, crashing into a very solid cupboard, sending miscellaneous concoctions spewing in all directions, melting into any surface they came in contact with. Haxail grabbed a few more of the unopened bottles and again threw them at Zachora's stripy face, and again he dissolved into smoke causing the bottles to hit the wall and make slopping sounds.

"By Celestia's flanks, stay STILL!" screamed Haxail, as two fish-filleting knives, a potato peeler and a whisk were hurled at Zachora, only to pass through his body as if it weren't there.

"I trained for years to learn the ways of the smoke! Your efforts are futile, and your attacks are a joke!"

"These rhymes get worse and worse, Zachora."

Zachora vanished properly this time. The room filled with an acrid mist and Zachora's laughter echoed slightly. Haxail's eyes burnt and teared up, obscuring his vision, but that didn't really matter; it was so smoky it was impossible to see anyway. He tried desperately to pick out movement. He felt a slight change in air, right behind him. He swung and flailed his hooves wildly in the direction of Zachora, who had managed to materialize almost on top of Haxail, and was holding a knife. Haxail gave up trying to stab smoke, and Zachora whispered something about badgers in his ears. Haxail screeched and span in circles, seizing another knife and thrashing around.

The mist cleared, and Haxail stared at Zachora, who grinned.

"Think you can escape by running in circles? I..."

Zachora faltered.

"Circles... circles..."

His jaw dropped.

"Oh Celestia, whyadajnksfhnklbg?!"

His mouth began to froth, and the saliva quickly turned red as blood flowed from his mouth, eyes and even his ears. Zachora collapsed to the ground, shaking violently. Haxail stood dumbfounded as he watched the zebra convulse in a pool of his own blood and spit. Finally, Zachora's spasms became weaker and weaker, until his movements stopped. Permanently.

Haxail turned and barrelled out the room, leaving the door off its hinges, and went at full speed through the forest, ignoring the strange things that lurked in its depths.

"Gotta... stop... Fluttershy..." he said to himself, breathing heavily from the sudden burst of speed.

He flew out the forest entrance, and stopped suddenly. Something was going on at Fluttershy's house. Something awkard.

**Notes: In case you were wondering what that bit with Zachora was, he couldn't finish a rhyme, and so violently internally haemorrhaged. Funfunfunfunfunfun! Yeah, that bit was horrifically written. Hope you're enjoying the story so far; Fluttershy gets massacred next chapter! Please show your support and keep those reviews coming!**


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